Unwell
by Bitterfruit93
Summary: Sherlocks sick and just wants John home to make him better. Slash, Sherlock/John


**I don´t own Sherlock or John, they are Sir Conan Doyles Characters and from the BBC Series "Sherlock"**

**I would be happy to read comments ^^ so enjoy the story!**

Sherlock was alone in Johns and his flat in 221 B Bakerstreet. He was laying on the couch and trying to kill time. Lestrade didn´t have any case for him and everything was so boring. John was working in the surgery and wouldn´t come home till six o´clock, so he couldn´t entertain Sherlock. Outside of the flat Snowflakes were making their way slowly down to the ground and the harsh cold made the people hurry home into their warm houses.

In the flat it was pretty chilly, but Sherlock was too accupied with himself to notice it, even tough he was only wearing his thin pyjama. The boredom was killing Sherlock, but all ways to distract himself hadn´t worked. First he tried to finish and observe his experiments, but his eyes were hurting and he couldn´t concentrate. Then he had searched for the gun, which John taken from him last week, again. Strangely he couldn´t find the weapon anywhere or more like he couldn´t move around very much, because his head was spinning like crazy. After that he grabbed for his violin and the only result was his murder headache. Lastly he lay down on the couch and tried to think, but he was coughing and his throat was feeling like he had eaten metal splinters.

"I wish John was here...", he muttered and his body shuddered under a new cough attack. Slowly he was fumbling for his phone and typed a short message to John.

When do you come home? - SH

Sherlock didn´t want John to rush home and be mad at him, because he was only unwell and not in real trouble. The reply came some minutes later and it was hard for the pale man to concentrate on the small screen.

At six, like I said. - JW

One look on the clock told the detectiv, that the doctor, his doctor, would come home in exactly thirty minutes. Only thirty more minutes and then he would feel much better.

"What? Why would I feel better with John here with me?", Sherlock asked the empty livingroom. He thought about that. John was his only friend, sure he would want him to be here in one of his cute jumpers. Cute jumpers? His brain was seriously damaged!... But John himself was cute, with that big puppy eyes, his short blond hair and his marvellious smile. Yeah, that smile made him feel better. And then Sherlock thought about Johns lips, like he wanted to know how they tasted, and what Johns body would feel like under his clothes. Would he have soft skin? Would he smell like soap or fresh tea? Surely he would smell like his favorite tea, which he was always drinking. Sherlock wished to hug John and not to wake up alone anymore.

"What´s wrong with me? What is this warm fuzzy feeling in my belly?" The facts were clear in this case. Sherlock was caring for his doctor, he didn´t like other people to be near him especially women, he wanted to hug him and never ever release him, the small man made him smile even tough there wasn´t anything funny in his life and lastly John put up with him, the freak. John was the only one, who could accept Sherlock completely. The detective thought very hard about this answer and the only answer he could think of, was love.

"Oh! Oh!" Sherlock finally found the answer and another coughing fit was draining all energy out of his sick body. One more look to the small clock told Sherlock, that John would be home in about two minutes. Only two minutes left for Sherlock to think about a way to tell John, that he loved him. Sherlock could hear the door open and John coming up the stairs. Sherlocks head went blank, something that never happened before and jumped up to greet the doctor. Sadly he had forgotten about the spinning room and the dizziness in his euphoria and lurched trough the livingroom to the door. Sherlocks world went black for a short moment and he dropped on the hard ground. Luckily in that moment John was entering the flat and hurried to his unconscious friend.

"Sherlock! Sherlock can you hear me?", John asked with panic in his voice. Sherlock was pale, much paler than normal and his skin had a taken on a grey tone. John pressed his hand to Sherlocks forhead and swore, because of the heat he felt. The detectives blue eyes opened and focused on Johns face. He even tried to smile, which failed miserably.

"Sherlock, you´re running a fever, why didn´t you say anything?"

"I´m just feeling... unwell." The words were slurred and Sherlock didn´t know what to say exactly.

"Unwell? Are you crazy?", John sighed, "How about I bring you to bed, give you some medicin and then you can rest a little bit?" Sherlock just nodded and another coughing fit made his body shudder under the strong grip of the exsoldier. John more carried Sherlock to his bed than walked him, because the consulting detective was to weak to move alone. After John tugged him in and gave him some medicin, he wanted to leave and search for some food for the sick man.

"John...", Sherlock said weakly, "John..."

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Don´t... please don´t leave me..." Sherlock sounded scared and John really didn´t want to leave the side of his friend and his secret love. Yes, John Watson was in love with the crazy detective and it was killing him to see the normally proud man in such a weakened state. He hadn´t told Sherlock about his feelings, because he was too scared to lose him. He was sure, that Sherlock would leave him, when he told him.

"Sorry, Sherlock, but you need something to drink and some food and I have to heat up the flat. I will be back in some minutes." John stood up, but was grabbed of the delirious detective on his wrist and had to stop.

"John... I have to tell you something...", another cough attack and his head was falling back to the pillow.

"It can wait. I will be back soon, okay?" Sherlock nodded again and was releasing his grip on Johns wrist. John hurried out of the room and practically ran trough the flat to get everything he needed for his patient. He heated up the flat, found some bread and soup he heated up and brought back to Sherlocks room. Sherlock trying to climb out of his bed. He needed to tell it John, he just needed to. John caught him midway and pushed him back into the bed.

"Sherlock, stay in bed! I have some soup for you. The tea will be ready shortly." Sherlock ignored the food in fronst of him and stared into Johns beautiful eyes.

"John... I need to say it now!"

"What is it, that you want to tell me?"

"John Watson... I love you."

"What?"

"I love you.", Sherlock repeated and looked at Johns shocked face.

"Yes, I heard that, but do you really...? I mean, are you sure or is it because of your fever?" John hoped, that the detective meant it for real and it was not just the fever talking.

"No, I really do, John... I care for you and you make me feel better... much better in fact... I want to hug you and kiss you and learn every little thing about you." There was silence and Sherlock already thought he would be rejected, when John suddenly grabbed him and hugged him tightly.

"I love you too, Sherlock, but I don´t want to kiss you right now. You are sick and I need to work tomorrow." Sherlock was depressed, he had hoped for John to touch him at least a little bit after confessing his love for him. John suddenly took his shoes of and climbed into bed with Sherlock. His bed was not as big as Johns, but it was enough for the two of them. John craddled Sherlock into his arms and soothingly stroked trough his black curls. For a short moment they forgot the soup, the bread and Sherlocks fever and it was just them.

Just Sherlock and John laying under the warm covers and enjoying each others company and love.


End file.
